


Limbo

by Nikashuk



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brothers, C!Wilbur would kill C!Dream just like he did C!Tommy if given the opportunity, Character Death, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I suppose, It's found family babey they're brothers by choice, Limbo, Panic Attacks, Protective Wilbur Soot, Purgatory, Reunions, SORRY FOR TAGGING IT, This is so sad digital assistant play Since I saw Vienna by Wilbur Soot, also a bit of, read this to feel sad but also less sad, so much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikashuk/pseuds/Nikashuk
Summary: A rough gasp resounds through a dark and empty place devoid of much of anything. The owner of the gasp coughs violently. His head is throbbing and every inch of his body feels like it's on fire.Eyes shooting open, he surveys the environment he's in. It's not much. A void would be the best way to describe it. There's no source of light yet he can see just fine. Looking down at himself, he spots steadily blossoming bruises, accompanied with a fair amount of blood he assumes to be his own. That would certainly explain why everything hurts so much.---Or, a boy too young to have to face the horrors of the world meets a familiar face in an unfamiliar place.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 16
Kudos: 251





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus Christ. Fucking shit. I'm not alright. You all know what I'm talking about.
> 
> Watching Jack's stream right after did not help! Bad decision! He did so well though. Jack Manifold if I could give you an Oscar I would. Same to all the others, especially in Tommy's stream! Also Puffy! Come on give me a break! She gets an Oscar nomination as well. Nominations for everyone! 
> 
> I say I write to cope but I made myself sadder making this. I also neglected sleep once again. I think I might die a premature death from all of the hours of sleep I'm missing. Dying... Just like... Someone else we know... 
> 
> No. Still in denial, I say whilst writing a fic wherein Tommy is without a question dead as a doornail. I'm so incredibly sad.  
> Pspsps come here for your Tommy and Wilbur reunion! No hurt here! Come closer... 
> 
> This won't ease the pain much, but I hope you enjoy reading. Leave a comment. That's a threat.

A rough gasp resounds and echoes through a dark and empty place devoid of much of anything. The owner of the gasp coughs violently. His head is throbbing and every inch of his body feels like it's on fire.

Eyes shooting open, he surveys the environment he's in. It's not much. A void would be the best way to describe it. There's no source of light yet he can see just fine. Looking down at himself, he spots steadily blossoming bruises, accompanied with a fair amount of blood he assumes to be his own. That would certainly explain why everything hurts so much.

Where is he? How did he get here? Why can't he recall or remember anything? What the fuck is happening?

He tries turning around, but winches when he does so. White hot pain shooting up his side and spreading throughout his body, rendering him unable to move for a few seconds before his tense and locked muscles ease up enough.

Alright. Move more carefully then. He'll have to remember that. Kind of ironic that's what he’ll remember, but not his own name or how he got to this place. Or what happened, for that matter. Everything's a blur. He gets flashes. Bits and pieces irregularly, but he can only barely make out shapes and colours. The words he can't make out, but the voices are loud and clear. It doesn't provide him with many answers though.

He's shaken from his thoughts by a voice in the distance. "Tommy?" It calls. It sounds confused. Why does that name sound familiar? He repeats it in his head. Tommy. That's his name. That's one question answered. But who called for him? Why did their voice sound so painstakingly familiar?

Someone stands opposite him, clad in a long light brown coat. Tommy blinks at him. "Tommy what- what are you doing here?" It comes out not much louder than a whisper, disbelief and confusion evident in its tone.

"I don't-" he starts, his voice coming out broken and raspy. "I don't know." The truth is he only just now remembered his own name, and it wasn't even on his own accord. A familiar stranger called his name and it clicked. That's the only thing he knows.

The figure takes a few steps closer. Now that they're nearer, he can get a closer look at them. Brown curly hair with a fringe falling over his eye. Their tall height. Warm brown eyes. A hole in their shirt near their abdomen stained with what he assumes must be very old blood.

"Wilbur?" he questions, distrustful of his own eyes and the image they're supplying him with. It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen things that weren't really there. Blurry visions of something that looks like a plains biome next to the sea flashes before his eyes. A familiar figure he knows couldn't be there appearing.

Wilbur looks stricken "What happened?" he grieves. Tommy doesn't think he's ever seen him this upset or shocked before, not even during wartime. "God-" a choked sound escapes his throat. "You look awful, what- what happened to you?"

He doesn’t want to imagine what he must look like right now. The glimpses he’d gotten from what he could see himself weren’t very pleasant, and if Wilbur’s reaction was anything to go by, it’s probably much worse. The tears pooling in his eyes don’t do much to make him feel any better.

Everything rushes back so quickly he clutches at his head. _'Why don't you go and see him then.'_ The words echo in his head. Pain that wouldn't stop, no matter how much he screamed and begged or pleaded. His breathing picks up its pace, now frantic, uncontrolled and ragged. His mind feels like it's surrounded by a thick fog, hindering his ability to think and act.

"Fuck. Okay. Tommy you need to breathe with me, alright?" The voice from before cuts in. The person it belongs to grabs one of his hands and places it palm flat against his chest. "Here, just copy me."

He tries his best to follow along, drawing in a deep breath in through his nose and blowing them out through his mouth. After a while of repeating the motions, he blinks at Wilbur, whose eyebrows are furrowed deeply in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asks tentatively, removing the hand from his chest but not letting it go. "He fucking-" Tommy starts, but has to take a second to wheeze. "He fucking beat me to death. I was in the prison, and I was stuck in there with him and I-" his voice wobbles. He needs to stop again to keep himself from becoming incomprehensible, the pitch of his voice rising in his panic. "I begged him to stop. He wouldn't stop." Tommy chokes on air. Wilbur guides him through it, reminding him to be mindful of his breathing. Tommy does the best he can.

"He said he'd get out. He said he'd get his revenge. Oh God, Tubbo-" Another gasp. "-Will be fine. He can take care of himself." Wilbur interject. Tommy is not convinced. This is just an amalgamation of all of his fears combined into one. It's not fucking fair. Life isn't a fairy tale. Realistically, sometimes the villains win, he knew that, and yet he had still had false hopes that things could get better.

He absentmindedly wonders if any of them miss him or if they're celebrating right about now. Knowing how split opinions are about him, probably the latter.

Tears are flowing down his cheeks before he can register it. His lip wobbles as he chokes on a sob. Wilbur matches him with his own fresh set of tears, spilling from his eyes silently, gloom settling on his face.

Wordlessly, Wilbur opens his arms wide in silent invitation. Tommy crashes into him. Wilbur steadies himself and catches him in his arms, pulling him closer. They embrace each other for what feels like hours. It's desperate and painful, both of them pulling and grasping at each other's clothes mercilessly. Their legs give out a few minutes in. Wilbur had supported him and maneuverer them to the floor so they were somehow knelt and sat on the floor of the void. They cry. Tears of joy at reunion, tears of sorrow at grief.

"Tommy, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..." Wilbur cries. "This never should have happened. This shouldn’t have been allowed to happen." he keens. Tommy cries along with him, sputtering and whimpering and sniffling. He doesn't care if it's gross or childish, right now his brother is holding him and the world could burn for all he cares.

"I didn't take care of you. I didn't protect you. I was selfish and deranged and paranoid, but that doesn't justify any of it. It's not an excuse. God, I was so awful to you." Wilbur rants. Tommy tries not to think about how conflicted he still is about him and his actions. Tries not to think of enormous explosions or mean words and wild accusations. Tries not to think of a room with a button, or a pit in a cold and dark cave.

"Why did you do it? Why did you leave me alone?" Tommy hiccups, heaving. "I never meant to. I never meant to." Wilbur shakes his head frantically whilst cradling Tommy's head in his hands, keeping him close to his chest. It makes it seem like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince the boy in his arms.

Tommy wants to voice more questions, but he can't find it in himself to open his mouth. Luckily for him, Wilbur does it on his own. "I don't know what I was thinking. I saw how much hurt pursuing a nation that shouldn't have existed in the first place was causing all of us. The conflict it brought with it. I couldn't think of a way to end it so I just- I just blew it up."

"I never wanted to lie or deceive you. I did what I thought was best at the time, though I was too blind to see that it wasn't. Afterwards I felt so guilty I- I couldn't go on anymore. I couldn't face what I'd done or the people I'd hurt, so I asked Phil to-" He doesn't finish that sentence, but both of them know how it was supposed to end. They can still hear the shouting between the ringing in their ears. A gleaming diamond sword clattering to the floor as it is dropped in horror.

He pulls away from their embrace to cup Tommy's face between his hands, staring into his eyes intensely. "Tommy I need you to understand. I am so proud of you. I have always been proud of you.” It takes everything in Tommy’s power not to sob again. He manages to stifle the first, but fails to catch the next one.

“You did so much for all of us. Not just us in L’Manberg, but the SMP as a whole. Where would anyone go without the paths you’ve made? Surely we’d all get lost.” He tries to ease the tension with another soft joke, but Tommy just sobs again. In a way that’s good he supposes, better than keeping it all bottled up, although he hates every single minute of it. He lovingly strokes away a stray tear that runs down his cheek with his thumb. “You singlehandedly changed history. You should have never been put into that position, but we can at least rejoice a little bit and boast about the impressiveness of it all.” Even if they’re the only ones who could hear it.

Wilbur will sing his praises and shout them from the rooftops if he could. One day he will. He’s set his mind to it and made a pledge. He will follow through. Back on that faithful day, so blinded by his spiralling mental state, he had thought he had nothing to live for. How wrong he had been, about so many things.

“I made you sacrifice so much and I can never begin to make up for it, and then I just abandoned you. I hope that maybe one day you can forgive me, even if I don't deserve it."

"I can never stay mad at you, Wilbur." Tommy whispers, exhaustion paired with his aching body weighing him down. He can't remember the last time he was held like this. Shown this much care and affection. He doesn't know what to do with all of it, yet it feels as natural as breathing. They're silent for a while, just sat holding each other. It's almost serene, almost enough to make them forget where they are. Two men both too young to be in a space like this, one more so than the other.

“I guess I really did follow in your footsteps, huh.” Tommy mutters before he could think better of it. Wilbur tenses and a pained noise escapes him at the words. “Sorry. Bit harsh wasn’t it.” Wilbur just shakes his head.

"I never meant for things to go like this..." Wilbur murmurs. Tommy thinks of everything that has happened to them since they brew potions together, when times were simpler and they could mess around without worrying about an axe dangling over their heads threatening to cleave their skulls.

"I'm not sure it would've mattered. Something like this would've happened either way. It was only a matter of time." Tommy says. Wilbur can't find the words to respond, so they're quiet again for a while. Silence leaves way for racing thoughts and aching hearts, but it's comfortable still.

"This isn't what I meant when I said see you soon." Wilbur attempts to joke. A noise akin to a laugh comes from Tommy's mouth, but it sounds strained. Both of them smile a little at it though, however morbid it may be. "Yeah. Me neither." Tommy retorts.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tommy shakes his head solemnly. "Not yet, sorry. Still a bit too soon. I'm trying not to think about it." Wilbur smiles sadly. "I understand. Take as much time as you need. I get it might all be a bit much. God knows I was pretty overwhelmed when I first got here." he chuckles bitterly. Tommy tries not to dwell on that last part.

"We'll beat him. Together. Us against the world." Wilbur states it like it's the most widespread common knowledge in the world. Again, that's nothing new. His charm is unmatched by anyone he has ever met. "How?" Tommy asks, incredulous "We'll find a way." Wilbur assures. If his expression was anything to go by, he would nearly believe it. He had a way of doing that. Convincing people they could do anything. The familiarity stings a little, he's not going to lie.

"I'll kill him for what he did to you. I swear it." The anger and fury in his eyes is something Tommy had grown familiar with somewhere between Eret's betrayal and his untimely demise. The memories that come with recognizing it settle uneasily in his stomach. He wonders if he can throw up in here. He sure feels like he’s about to.

"I promise." Wilbur vows, sounding like he'd never been more sure of anything in the world. Promises are fickle, Tommy has learned. Oftentimes they can't be kept. But alas, when it comes to Wilbur, he can never bring himself to question them.

Tommy had laid down at some point, head cushioned on Wilbur's thigh. It feels natural, unlike the last time he had spent time unconscious in a similar position. This was purposeful, with someone he felt safe with. For once, parallels don't hurt him.

Tommy had wondered if ghosts needed sleep, once. He's not sure if he is one, but for the time being, he sure is tired. Wilbur gently carts his fingers through the golden locks of the resting boy. He liked to think he'd regained most of his senses and sanity in his time spend reflecting and pondering in the afterlife, however as he looks at the battered and beaten body of the child he had miraculously started considering his brother once, burning the world for its wrongs against him seemed a bit more alluring.

He feels the urge to sing, thinking of how Tommy was always so excited to hear his music. Shouting his praises from the rooftops with open mouthed grins and dimples so deep they could fit a lake in them. A lullaby then, for the drowsy child who so desperately needs a break.

The melancholy tune lulls the tortured boy to sleep within minutes. Tommy’s snores softly, mouth slightly agape. Wilbur smiles brightly at the sight. Tommy’s snores softly, mouth slightly agape. He looks peaceful like this, eyes closed, for once not with furrowed brows. Had it not been for their current location, or the scars Tommy wore on every bit of exposed skin, it would almost seem like the old days. Like nothing had changed at all. Reminiscing doesn't do much to ease his guilt or worries, though. 

Singing had offered him solace when he first got to the afterlife. He'd sing until his throat was sore and the lyrics were forever ingrained into his brain. 

The world had not been kind to Tommy and Wilbur, and would no doubt continue to cause them pain, but for now, they were together. Wilbur will protect him. Be it here, or back out there, for however long he needs to.

So they sit together in limbo, two brothers side by side, reunited, basking in each other's warmth to offer them comfort. It wasn't perfect. It would most likely never be again, but they had each other, and that is all that matters. 


	2. Hell to pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur Soot was not a Saint, no matter how much people seemed to revere him as one at times. Wilbur Soot was not a villain, no matter how much he seemed to think he was. Wilbur Soot was neither of those things, but he was both. Despite his duality, he had committed mortal sin. Surely he could never hope for redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is so fun. I am doing this for fun. No this is not a coping mechanism because the past events have not yet registered and I am ignoring that fact very actively. I spent the entirety of today watching back streams I slept through. Gosh darned Americans. This is why I primarily watch Tommy's POV. 
> 
> Please Dream SMP actors give us Tommy & Wilbur afterlife interactions. You've already killed me, so shooting me again wouldn't matter. I am begging you I miss them so much. Please I know Tommy has limited time with him because Dream will bring him back to prove a point. Don't give me Ghostinnit or Phantommy, I don't want him. That would actually kill me twice over. I'll take the lesser of two evils, thank you very much. 
> 
> Hey how do we feel about Ranboo having scarring from tears because it burns his skin? God. Fuck. Shit. Oh God. I did not cry whilst watching Ranboo talk to Sam, no sir, not at all. Tommy kept the allium. Oh god. Oh fuck.
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a character study, I suppose. I've never written something with so little dialogue, so it was a bit different from what I'm used to, but it was fun to write regardless. I miss Wilbur, okay? Bite me.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy reading! Please please please leave a comment, I love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> POST STREAM EDIT:  
> I TAKE IT BACK I KNEW GOOD WILBUR WAS ASKING FOR TOO MUCH BUT COME ON YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO RIP OUT MY HEART LIKE THAT I JUST WANTED OUR BROTHERS BACK TOMMY I'M SO SORRY SWEETIE  
> Dream I am going to punt you into the sun. This is so fucked up. Jesus Christ. Once again who would've thought I would be the one writing the happy endings. Two in a row is not good. I am so sorry.

Wilbur Soot was not a Saint, no matter how much people seemed to revere him as one at times. Wilbur Soot was not a villain, no matter how much he seemed to think he was. Wilbur Soot was neither of those things, but he was both. Despite his duality, he had committed mortal sin. Surely he could never hope for redemption.

Moral ambiguity is not hard to come by. Contrary to popular belief, it's actually a lot more common than people think. It's a difficult thing, though. The world is not black or white, but it's not all the same shade of grey either. It's a lesson lost on many.

He had convinced himself he was too far gone, past the point of saving. Really he just couldn't bear to live with the guilt of what he'd done. If he can't forgive himself, how could anyone else? How could they possibly forgive him for his acts?

He had been an awful caretaker, even before he had started to lose it. Death can give someone a great amount of clarity, he's come to learn. What kind of person would willingly submit children to the horrors of war? That's what it had been, hadn't it? Revolutions were war. He had forced children into war. He had lost his mind after his exile, but he had been deluded from the start.

Such an act could not be excused, no matter how many arguments a man could muster, so he had to die for it. If he hadn’t initiated it himself, who knows what they might have done to him. So he had asked his father, begging him to, and he had obliged.

Wilbur liked poetry, likes it still. He loves songs and symbolism and parallels and history and mythology, the list is endless. He often reflects on his death, and it’s poeticism. Saint George had slain the dragon that demanded human sacrifice. The people had rejoiced, or so he thought. Fact was, it was more silent than anyone originally anticipated. For a while, at least, until inevitably conflict started again. The Never-ending cycle of violence seemed to be one of the few things they all partook in, the only thing that was universal. Perhaps Technoblade had been right about that one.

Tommy's appearance had offered him another perspective on his death. He had started to reconsider things when he spoke to him last, after he'd fought Dream and won. It had reaffirmed his beliefs at first, Tommy was doing fine without him. Then he had spilled the reason why they hadn’t killed Dream. A book he’d allegedly gotten from Schlatt, containing information about how to bring someone back to life. Back from the dead. Resurrection. Who would’ve thought it possible before now?

He had felt it, then. A space growing, making room for something and pulling him along with it, separating him from the afterlife.

Tommy had been so quiet and resigned, muttering and disbelieving. He hadn’t explained much, just vague answers before saying he was unsettled. Wilbur had cracked a joke, though it took him a while the laugh at it.

He had grown even more quiet when he said they would bring him back, that the only reason Dream wasn’t dead was because of that. He had been so confused. To bring him back? Why would they want to do that? He had hurt them, he didn’t want to come back! His thoughts had raced then but none of them clear enough to be able to form a coherent sentence, stuttering and cutting himself off constantly.

Then when he’d managed to slip a question through his rambling, if he wanted him back, Tommy had sounded so small when the simple _‘yeah’_ had come out.

He’d been so confused, and confusion soon made way for frustration. He had spent so long trying to leave all of it behind him, and then he was once again faced with the reality and consequences of his actions. Death had felt liberating, even if it was a cowards way out. In death he didn’t have to face any of the people he had hurt or left behind. Like Tommy. He had left Tommy behind.

They had bickered just like old times, nothing ill-spirited and without vigour, just playful banter. It had dissolved into the usual fondness shared between them. The insults had never held meaning to them, aside from a time in a dark cave system he would rather forget. He had said _‘see you soon’_ , but he hadn’t meant it like that. Never like that.

He knows it's not fair, but he blames Phil a little too. A catalyst for events to come by taking up the sword and running it straight through him. He had asked, frantically begged even upon his hesitance, so he shouldn’t blame him. He did what he asked of him.

But he didn't have to kill him. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped he would tell him it was alright. That he would help him. Hold him in his arms and whisper kind words of reaffirmations and reassurances. Perhaps he had expected too much from him. It wasn’t fair, but he can’t help how he feels.

Tommy had always tested people. Pushed and shoved and shouted just to see how they'd react. He was brash and foul-mouthed and rambunctious, had been ever since he'd known him. The only reason Wilbur had stuck around was because he saw right through it, for what it really was. A defence mechanism, borne from being left and abandoned so many times. He would drive people away in his attempt to make sure they'd stay. To seem uncaring and unaffected. Wilbur saw through the hurt and pain and recognized the child that was underneath it. He had hacked at the walls the boy had built until enough cracks formed that he could break through.

Despite everything, they had found each other. Two young men, bonded and connected by a thread from fate itself, some might say. They had been brothers, were brothers, all through choice. Both of them had been so alone before circumstance had introduced them. Sure, they had friends, but friends aren't exactly brothers, are they? It wasn't the same.

He had loved him with every fibre of his being, still does, even if neither of them were very vocal about it. The admiration in Tommy's eyes had always been clear, and so had the love. Wilbur loved him right back, admired him right back. The boy wore his heart on his sleeve, that was an impressive feat to be able to pull off in and of itself. It was brave, no matter what others would think or say.

The world was not black or white, but the current shade of grey was much too dark. Wilbur Soot was not a Saint, and would have to spend the rest of his life, or death, he supposes, trying to atone for his sins. The difference between him and the rest of them is that he showed remorse. The general population seems to lack it.

He can lay part of the blame on his mental state, because truly, who can blame a man's actions only dictated and carried out by thoughts that only scream of betrayal and destruction. Logically, he knows this, but he can't excuse what he's done. Ironically, compared to some people still inhabiting the plane of the living, he was a Saint in nothing but comparison, and the overshadowing of events.

As far as he knew, these people were sane, still. Well, as sane as one can be in a world like the one they live in. He can’t fathom how they could stand by and let something like this happen. He didn’t want to assume too much, after all it’s hard to judge things when you know so little of the events that had actually transpired. Still, he thinks he’s allowed a bit of resentment, even though it’s hypocritical. Out of all of the adults, or responsible people, how had none of them seen what was happening? Why did none of them move to stop it?

He hopes they all feel guilty. He hopes it eats them up alive and kills them. They allowed this to happen because of their negligence. Turning a blind eye to a child because they didn't particularly like him. Leaving him trapped with someone they all know to be unstable, violent and insane. Consigning him to his fate by leaving him in the hands of a murderer.

Wilbur was a guilty as any of them, leaving Tommy to essentially fend for himself after his death, but he had never expected this. Where was their common sense? Where was their compassion? How could they have let this happen?

But he had not been perfect either. Wilbur was not a perfect man. He wasn’t even a good man, sometimes. The way he’d treated those he cared about still haunt his dreams. None of it can rival what he did to Tommy though, whether that be directly or indirectly. Their relationship was strained, and he had all the blame to take for it. It would never be the same, no matter how much he wished and prayed for it to be.

Remorse is the first step to redemption. He'd like to think dying contributed a little bit, too, but he understands it might not be the best way to go about seeking forgiveness for the vast majority of people. Death was an outlier and should not be counted. He had felt remorse before he'd even carried out the act. Every single time he stepped into that forsaken room, he found himself unable to follow through, no matter how much he had wanted to. Tommy was one of the only things keeping him tied to that place. He’s not sure when he lost that sentiment.

He wants to be better, wants to be there for his little brother, like he’s meant to be. He will be there for his little brother. Once upon a time, what seems like a lifetime ago, he made a promise. A vow to protect him. The promise had been broken and he’d failed his mission, but now that Tommy is here, in his arms, his resolve grows stronger than it had in months. This time, he will keep his promise. The vow will not be broken. Whatever he needs to do, he’ll do it.

What’s that saying again? Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better? Maybe the downs can help you appreciate the highs better, but not like this. Never like this. A child dying doesn’t get better. It’s horrid and vile and abysmal. Things shouldn’t have to get worse first, they should have been better since the start.

Anger was not a foreign concept to him, even before his deterioration. It was a familiar friend. He was an angry kid when he had been younger, too. Perhaps that was why he and Tommy connected so well, because he saw himself in him, because he understood.

Suddenly, a soft, disgruntled noise comes from below. He looks down at Tommy to find him frowning slightly with furrowed brows. Must be a nightmare, or an uneasy dream at least. He carts his hand through the blonde locks soothingly, smoothing it out but taking mind to leave the tangles.

He leans down, despite his back’s protests, to place a gentle kiss on Tommy’s hairline. “I love you, Tommy. I promise I’ll take care of you properly this time." Tommy’s expression softens at that, lines of worry disappearing, like he could hear the words being spoken even whilst not fully conscious. Wilbur keeps his hand put, stroking Tommy’s head while he slips back into a peaceful sleep.

The world is unjust and cruel, but its people are even worse. Back there nothing but pain and destruction reigns supreme, suffering and life-threatening danger ever present no matter where you went. Wilbur had played a part it in, too.

The world had not been kind to Tommy, and for that, they will surely all have hell to pay. He will make sure of it.


End file.
